


Letters To Pass The Night

by allan_schrieber



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Barnabas Bennett eat your heart out, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Religious Guilt, Rusty Quill - Freeform, Victorian gay love letters, king needs a nap, no beta we kayak like Tim Stoker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:13:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26698831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allan_schrieber/pseuds/allan_schrieber
Summary: When the night is long and all you have is your churchyard and a friend a letter away, what do you do?-Aka! Peter explores the relationship between Nathaniel and Hezekiah! (Tw for alcoholism mentions!!)
Relationships: Nathaniel Beale/Hezekiah Wakeley
Kudos: 2





	Letters To Pass The Night

Sitting with a sigh, the sexton perched by a dying flame.

The flame of a dying candle danced and shook with each heavy exhale the man took, bowing to the weight of his troubles that lay thickly over each shoulder. Such a weight caused the form himself to hunch inwards as if defending the ink and paper he was employing. A dip pen bled against Hezekiah’s fingers as he gripped the wood tight, as if it were also about to slip away from him.

Ink dropped onto the page effortlessly in ruining blots, whereas words clogged in his wrist, unwilling to be divulged. The night was young, yet the soul of the devout man felt weary and decrepit, longing for something he knew was simply beyond reach and all sensible allowance. 

With a heavy sigh, pen touched paper.

_‘My dearest Nathaniel,’_ the letter began. 

_‘I write to you tonight exhausted in limb and mind, yet aching in soul and depressed in spirits. I know you worry about my wellbeing, truly I do and I ain’t here to cause you no concern now, I simply don’t know who else to turn to in my time of trouble. I s’ppose I could turn to the reverend, but...I ain’t sure. I promised not to be a burden.’_

Hezekiah paused, fumbling in the dark for the inkwell.

_‘Some nights Nathaniel, as I have mentioned, sleep eludes me as a pauper avoids the tax man. And nights like this cause a great toll ‘pon my spirits. As I said! This ain’t no complaint, simply...a poor man putting down his shilling a’ thoughts.’_

Rosary beads clanked against the sturdy wooden desk as the sexton considered, biting the end of the dip pen thoughtlessly.

_‘I know I promised you that with this post I’d never touch the Devil's drink ever again, but some nights I can’t help but just consider it a little. As you crave cigarettes, dearest Nathaniel, I long for the warmth and comfort of my old vice. Nights like these I’ll walk myself ragged round the churchyard until I can stand no longer, walking a little more for good measure. Yet the craving still remains.’_

A sigh. A bitter hum of memory settled against his tongue, as if teasing him.

_‘I know you worry so about my condition, and truly I am alright. Thusly that is not the intention I have of penning this letter. I know you call me silly for sleeping in graves, Nate, but it is the only genuine solace I may find these days from this corrosive struggle. I feel so...peaceful within the dirt that sleep comes as simply as breathing and leaves me feeling as fresh as a new man would.’_

He stopped, looking at the dirt he’d failed to scrub from beneath his nails. A fond smile briefly passed his lips.

_‘I know a man could drive himself to insanity speaking like this, and I ain’t trying that by a stretch...I miss your company, my friend. Truly, I do. But once more I am not undervaluing the worth of this opportunity. Yet your presence truly does compl—‘_

Drip, drip.

Ink splashed against the page, soaking in and hiding the words as if they meant nothing. 

For the better truly, Hezekiah decided.

_‘Forgive the state of this letter, for I write by a dying candle and nothing more before I once more venture outside to the solace of the night, searching for peace beyond the bottom of a bottle._

_I await your next visit, Nathaniel—I miss your presence, truly. You are cherished by many here. May God bless you on whatever endeavours you may undertake in the time before our next meeting._

_Signed Hezekiah, forever your loyal servant.’_

A few moments passed as watery eyes looked upon the end of the letter and a deft hand fumbled for the inkwell. An envelope was picked up with gentle hands, two drawings slipped inside; one of a bird Hezekiah had once observed around the yard, and the second a factual study of a flower so often sprouting around his graveyard. Finally, the letter slipped inside as if made of glass.

Wax from the dying candle fell slowly upon the seal mark, stamp pressing down quickly afterward.

The small room felt empty without any sound at all. He longed for the cold glass of a bottle against his palm. Instead he found a shovel filling the space once the letter was carefully positioned upon the desk and his night coat had been pulled on, ready to attended the darkness.

For the gravedigger, there was only true peace in his churchyard.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!!! Criticism is welcomed! I plan on writing more for Mr. Wakely :”)   
> Add me on tumblr!!! @hezekiah-wakleys


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